Crimson
by Soulreciever
Summary: An AU where Ian writes for a living. Ianthony, AU and I guess OC as everyone here's lived a different life and is going to, therefore, be just a little bit different.
1. Chapter 1

The coffee house sits somewhere in the middle of the market, not quite the chrome and glass opulence of a chain stores but certainly not the school canteen rejects you'd find sometimes out in the burbs.

The customers are the usual collection, the business men grabbing something on the fly; the small gaggle of girls catching up on gossip and the students surrounded by paperwork and old, used, cups.

The employees too feel familiar, the overly enthusiastic newbie, the old hat who has the sourest of faces and the quiet one who seems just a little out of place in this sort of environment.

The lunch rush has just abandoned ship and there's a happy little atmosphere in the air that makes the frowning face in the window seat all the more obvious.

The owner of the face looks like your typical 20 something, bedecked in an overly causal combination of jenes and over sized plaid shirt, and sporting an almost bowl shaped head of hair that is most likely deliberately just a little outside the norm.

His name is Ian Hecox and currently he's operating on ten minutes solid sleep and enough caffeine to fuel a small army, which means when the happy little enquiry of '**you know what the time is right?**' Rolls in he can't stop the snark response of,

**'I'm not two Mari.'**

**'Ok, good, that means it's not your lazy ass face I'm seeing through the Crimson's window then.'**

Oh he's dead, so so dead, still that doesn't excuse bad manners and he makes sure to leave a tip before oh so slowly making his way out to the street.

There waiting for him, dressed in her usual eclectic mix, is the one and only Mari Ovenshire literary agent and best friend extrodinar.

"So, it's two pm, that short story is due at quarter past and your ogling tall dark and handsome. Again."

"Sorry?" Big puppy eyes because he knows she's subseptable no matter how much she plays at being a hard ass and after a moment she's crumbling the loudest of sighs,

"At least tell me you actually talked to him today. You know struck up a conversation like a normal person?"

"I'm quite happy just looking thanks."

"Not everyone is Lucy, Ian."

It's been a year.

A year since he walked into what was going to be their bedroom to find her tangled up in another man.

A year since she'd told him straight to his face that she'd only ever been using him for the money, that he was a sad, pathetic, man who needed to grow up and get a life.

A goddamned year and still even the sound of her name cut like a knife.

Mari sees that well and instantly she's looping him a tight, one armed, hug and murmuring,

"Sorry, that was a little hard, but you know what I was getting at right? I mean this is the first I've seen you so muddled by someone since...then...and honestly what harm could come from at least asking after his name?" A wicked little smile and then a piece of paper is being thrust in his general direction, "besides the hubbie made you fanart and that basically means its destiny now right?"

It's beautiful no matter the rushed, almost sketchy, composition, the image a re-imagining of the cover art his latest 'masterpiece' where he stands in place the buxom heroine, wrapped tight and secure a fairly good likeness the young waiter.

It has him laughing, which in turn, elevates his mood back out the depression quagmire and, squeezing her shoulder firmly he states,

"You're the best!"

"I know!" With which she's pulling free a firm, "Anyways enough of all that soppy stuff, you still owe me a manuscript mr."

"Yeh yeh, I'm pegging it to the Nest as we speak!"

Of course now his good moods mostly recovered he can't quite resist messing with her by casually sauntering away, breaking into a more enthused pace when her mouth flattens in the way that can only mean trouble.

The Nest had once been a large, open plan, office that Mari had bought early in her career some aspiration that'd faded as practicality won over and that, these days, served as part work station, part clubhouse for her biggest sellers.

He's greeted a powerful track from the OST for Twilight Princess as he opens the door, the shear enthusiasm of the the music providing motivation enough that, suddenly, anything seems possible.

Even submitting something half way decent by the cut off point.

Five seconds precisely after squishing into his chair that flys out of the window as his booth buddy, David 'lazercorn' ,who was currently being haled as the next Neil Gaeman by pretty well every literary critic who mattered, slumps dramatically into view with a despondent,

"I hate today."

Ten minutes.

He's been stuck in place basically the fortnight he's had to work on the piece, his brain tangling more and more in on itself as the frustration had set in.

Eventually driven to utter desperation he'd gone to Crimson for a coffee as well as a little mental distraction and, for a minute he'd been certain the risk had paid off.

Written paragraph after paragraph in some giddy high that'd come grinding halt the moment he'd realised that he was doing IT again.

Which all boiled down to him having only ten measly minutes left in which to produce something brand spanking new basically out of his ass.

He knows Mari would never cast him off simply for fudging up on something that's basically a way to keep his pen name in the public conscious between novels. That, for all the bad business practice it makes, each and every one of the residents of the Nest are treated a great deal more like her friends than her staff, but...

...he's heard the stories and he really, REALLY, doesn't want to properly get on her bad-side if he can help it.

Still David really does look like he could do with a friend and, as a romance novelist, compassion's basically hard wired into him, which means, of course, that he can't exactly ignore his plight.

Backed so far into a corner there's only really one choice and, so, SO, aware that there will be consequences, he submits the thing he'd created while in Crimson.

With no going back he shunts the entire issue somewhere that his subcontious can play with it, rescues the box of Oreos from his bottom draw and, with a subtle shake of the box just above David's ear, he states,

"Spill."

One hand snakes out to snatch a cookie and, after a few moments of little other than crunching, a muffled voice states,

"So the car broke down right in rush hour traffic, there was a fricking freak rainstorm as I walked for twenty minutes strait just to get to a garage who, apparently, won't tow unless your registered with them and then while I'm walking the two blocks to a garage that will tow Amie rings to bitch me out about not buying non dairy ice cream and other such hormone related fun." Another stolen cookie and then green eyes are glaring out at him from the gloom, "finally to top it all off I come here to my one sure safe space, my port amid a storm, to find Mr and Mrs Mari gossiping about a certain someone's guy crush. I mean I thought we had a deal dude, the moment you decide you wanna try guy for a bit you come to me. Team Iancorn forever and all that jazz!"

"Yeh well then you went and got a chick knocked up."

"Oh Amie is totally on board, in fact she told me that you'd be the only person she'd forgive me cheating on her with."

"Seriously?"

"Yeh well hormones. Also she thinks Iancorn is a kickass ship name."

"Which it is." A beat in which yet another cookie is pulled into the 'den of wo' then, "how's it all going anyway?"

As predicted his friend is instantly up and out of his chair, riffling through his drawer in search of what proves a high definition sonogram,

"You owe me fifty."

"A girl then?"

"Mm hm and the midwife says she's gonna be a long, strangely thing just like her mom."

"Any names?"

"Actually seeing as you totally 100% are the reason I even met Amie we both agreed the baby should be named after you, but Ian is totally the dudeiest of dude names so now we know she's going to be a girl..."

"Your using my pen name."

"Only if you really don't mind, I mean I get that maybe it'd be nice to not constantly be reminded that a good portion of the reading world thinks your a girl and as her godfather you're going to be around baby a lot so if we did call her Melissa that's going to happen..."

"David it's fine, in fact I like that it'll be like an in joke kind of thing that she's named for me at all." A true smile, then, "do you really want me to be godfather?"

"Duh who else would I ask? Anyway this way you can come over all the time without anyone asking questions."

"Apparently I've cart Blanche anyways as far as the Mrs is concerned."

Which has him laughing properly, all trace of his previous mood vanished like smoke,

"You are the best dude, seriously."

"What are friends for?"

"True," with which the cookie box is being stolen from his grasp and shaken in front of him a firm, "so spill."

"I'm an airhead and left my USB stick at Crimson, Stevie recognised it and got the new guy to ring me at home to let me know what'd happened. This dude has, I swear to you, a voice like goddamned melted chocolate so I drop everything to go get the stick to see if his face is any sort of match and whoo boy was it."

"That's it?"

"That's it."

"Huh, you know Mari is making it sound like this massive love affair right?"

"Oh I have artistic evidence of the fact."

As he presents David with the picture the other man's face widens a genuine sort of shock before,

"Wow the world really is tiny."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning the guy holding shojou you in his 'manly embrace' is mr Anthony Padilla, Amie's best friend and the guy who'd help you raise Melissa if worst came to worst."


	2. Chapter 2

Right about now he'd be a happy happy man if the earth'd just open up under his feet and swallow him whole.

The very moment he'd seen Anthony the man had been stuck in his head, his natural good looks appealing not only to his base animal instincts but also the writer in him. For a while that fact had been innocent enough, the simple sight of a new expression or flash of a smile that handsome face a strange sort of motivation for his talent. Then...

Then he'd noticed his male leads taking on aspects of the others appearance, his female leads becoming more like himself and, most shameful of all, everything becoming all the more smutty for the change.

It's a habit he'd thought killed Lucy's hard departure and he'd gotten so hung up on the significance of it coming back for someone who's all but a stranger to him that he'd simply let it slide.

Promised to keep a stricter policing his work so that it wouldn't happen again and, until this afternoon, he'd actually managed to do just that.

Now...

...ugh now he was going to have to properly talk to Anthony safe in the knowledge that, any day now, a self penned smutty, smutty, story about the two of them getting it on was going to appear in a popular woman's magazine.

He'd allow himself to hope that maybe, just maybe, the other would never see the story and that this could be a funny anecdote that he'd tell should they actually become friends, but, apparently, fate likes messing with him so that'd be like betting on a lame horse.

Which means he needs a strategy, but from the moment David had discovered that Anthony was the 'hot dude from crimson' he'd turned into a hyperactive ball of energy, organising a meet and greet for the precise minute that Anthony's shift ended, then circling him back to the house for what'd proved twenty minutes of outfit construction hell.

All of which balls down to him sitting in his usual spot in Crimson's window, wearing pants just a little too tight and a shirt he knows has seen better days, wishing for some magical last minute get out of jail free card.

To make it worse David had utterly bailed on him to go get his car from the garage with a happy "enjoy your date" tossed casually over his shoulder.

Movement in his periphery and then Anthony is direct in sight, smiling what he knows is his friendly welcoming smile.

Ok maybe he should just be honest right from the start, go in all confident with '_so yeh I'm Ian and I've totally been writing lots of porn about you since that time with the USB stick...David told you I was a writer right? Anyways there was a situation and now some of that porn is coming to print, but it's totally ok because I write under a girls name so it's not like anyone is going to think your suddenly gay...not that I think you'd have an issue with that or that anyone in your family is a bigot...'_

Ok so not that.

Brain in full panic meltdown he ends out launching himself out of his seat with a far, far, too enthused "I'm Ian," and a weird ass half handshake half honest to god bow.

It earns a moment of bafflement before the other is taking the offered hand and responding,

"Anthony," sliding into the chair opposite before he states, "so, co godparents huh, does that mean I have to marry you or something if the worst happens?"

"Knowing David, I really wouldn't be surprised."

"Well you sound like a normal, nice, sort of a guy and you're pretty easy on the eyes, so I guess it wouldn't be all that bad." Deadpan, followed the most siliceous of winks he'd ever seen and he has to actually physically pinch himself to keep the blush reflex down.

It's friendly banter.

It's totally not flirting.

Just friendly, friendly banter like all the crazy shit that leaves his mouth whenever David's in what he's dubbed an 'Iancorn' mood.

Silently he repeats the mantra over and over as he responds a snarky,

"Well then as the future Mrs Padilla I think it's only right for you to know that there might have been a Mc Donald's related incident in my teens. I mean it's water under the bridge now and the doctor say he started eating on his own recently so yeh."

Laughter but not the sort he's heard some of the more flirty customers provoke out of him, indeed the look on his far removed that laughter too.

A squashed, less than perfect, expression that speaks of genuine, genuine amusement.

It's a face that would be so, so easy to fall for.

The thought and all it's dangerous, poisonous, influence scatters as Anthony asks the one question he'd wanted desperately to avoid,

"So what do you write?"

He really, really, should just be honest, take the abuse he utterly knows he deserves and then move on with life.

Thing is he wants to keep talking to Anthony, wants to hear more of that lovely voice and see if, perhaps, he can cox back out that laugh.


	3. Chapter 3

He's awake, he knows that because all the vague, happy, fluffy fluff images that'd been drifting in his head have had their village pillaged and their loved ones mercilessly murderd by pain.

Still a moments experimentation tells that his eyelids have fused themselves together and his limbs have become random pieces of heavy, heavy, jelly that feel as though they've been seared into his body.

He'd think it extreme exhaustion but for the taste of rotting fruit on his tongue and the pinprick agony working its way back and forth across his irises.

A moment to entertain the thought that Lucy used to coddle him when he was this badly hungover, that maybe such selfless kindness meant that she'd cared just a little, before quite literally smacking himself about the head in order to dislodge the musing before it grew too silly.

Oh so slowly he crawls to the kitchen, prepares the fattiest thing he can and, after chugging what feels a literal gallon of water, very carefully works his way though the meal.

He takes a long bath after that and, feeling at least some way toward being human once more he at last 'bites the bullet' and switches his mobile back on.

A minute of frantic buzzing as it registers first the unread e-mails and then the small collection of phone messages.

The former is the usual mix of sales advertisements, amusingly bad spam and work related stuff that he shunts into various folders for later consideration.

The latter proves first a photo of he and Anthony apparently stacked up on one another and an accompanying message reading simply '**Glad to see you two are hitting it off already #twerkteamianthony'** from David and one from an unknown number enquiring,

'**Hey dude it's Anthony sending my number as requested. Had a great night and don't worry you're not as chatty on sprits as you think! Wanna maybe come hang out at mine after my shift?'**

Eyebrows half way up his hairline he takes a deep, deep, breath and then phones David with,

"Ok you know what I want to know so spill,"

"I don't know."

"Really?"

"Really...Anthony will utterly flirt with anyone given chance and IF he's had a 'significant' other he's kept that fact pretty close to his chest."

"Great, I can't have even just one normal, EASY, thing in my life can I?"

"So your really serious about this then?"

"I don't know...I mean I barely remember last night and talking to him yesterday afternoon was a steep learning curb for mr 'smalltalk failure of the century' over here."

"But?"

"I feel 'right' in his company...like he's some missing piece I never had and god is it far, FAR, too fast to be feeling like that already."

"Maybe, or maybe he's 'the one'."

"You know I don't believe in that crap."

"I know that Lucy made you scared to believe, because what if she was it? What if your frankly crappy luck had made it so your 'one' was a callous bitch who never actually had or wanted a one of her own?"

"See this is what I mean, you can hit on something like that without me saying a god damned word to you, but knowing if a dude is into dudes or not is some Herculean task."

"What can I say, his hair combats my mind reading powers."

Which should be where he wraps everything up, makes some form of choice and gives Anthony his response.

Instead he finds himself stating, "I wrote this smutty ass short story that's basically about girl me and him doing the dirty and I kind of ended out letting Mari see it and she loved it so now it's getting published and I totally should have told him this yesterday but instead I told him I write sci-fi and I kind of remember telling him my penname was 'Sohinky' which Mat's gonna kill me for and it's not as though it's gonna do any good because the very second he sees the story he's going to know the truth and want nothing to do with my perverted ass..."

Everything's going a little dull at the edges, there's what feels a concrete block taking residence on his chest and David's voice sounds a strange, far off, thing as he exclaims, "Seriously, Ian, take a breath before you pass out!"

A long silence then,

"Ok, you with me again?"

"Yeh, guess everything was more ontop of me than I thought."

"This just in: 'Ian Hecox bites off more than he can chew and actually admits it!'"

"Oh ha ha."

"Sorry, couldn't resist. Anyway about all this story stuff tell Anthony you panicked and give him the truth, if you're ballsy enough about it he'll totally take it in his stride and who knows maybe this'll prove an 'in' for that really un-comfy conversation you need to have about sexual preference."

"Right, sure, 'ballsy'...I can totally do that...you'll be around to pick up the pieces right?"

"If you need me I'll be there."

"You are the best!"

"What are friends for?"

...

In the end he'd talked Anthony into coming to his house as that meant not only could he escape pretty well whenever, but also that he felt just that little bit more secure in and of himself.

Plus it was kind of fun to watch that beautiful face morphing into the same mix of awe and envy as every other first time visitor to his place.

"Dude, I didn't even know houses like this existed in Sacramento."

"That's because this baby is 100% from my noggin."

"Wow and here I was thinking all writers were penniless creative types who only keep at it for the sake of 'art'"

"That'd be the poets."

Again the laughter, his stomach twisting a little for the faint ghosts of memory the sound tickles at, memories full of the smell of aftershave strong in his nose and the steady warmth of another at his side.

"Still this seems like a pretty big house for one guy."

He's so on edge, so very concentrated on 'the big talk' that, without thinking, he's responding,

"It wasn't really built with one in mind, but then life happens I guess."

"Bad break up?" Genuine curiosity and, indeed, genuine concern, which is encouragement the honest response of,

"Yeh, but I think I'm finally over the worst of it."

A strong hand on his arm a moment, the touch again rekindling memories of the previous night, memories this time of a lingering hand in his hair and firm against the nape of his neck.

It's more than a little tempting to ask after those memories, but he knows doing as such will kill the tiny amount of impedes he's managed to build since talking to David.

A deep breath and, picturing the most confidence inducing mental image he can, he states,

"I need to be honest with you."

An inquisitive lift of one delicate brow and an almost self defence curl of his arms about himself before,

"I'm listening."

"I'm going to need to just say it all so no interrupting and you can totally feel free to run like merry hell once I'm done."

"Noted."

"Right, so, I'm not a sci-fi author, I wanted to be, GOD did I want to be, but that's a long story and all you really need to know now is that it ended out with me writing romance novels under the name of 'Melissa More'."

"What? Really?! My mom's crazy about your stuff!"

"Really and I'm not quite done."

"Ok, ok," the mimed action of a zip right in front of lips that are just a little flushed and so, so tempting that he utterly deserves some sort of medal for the shear strength of will that goes into ignoring that temptation and instead giving voice the final confession of,

"I wrote something a couple of days ago that's basically about us getting it on and in under twenty four hours your mom and every other mom in America will be able to read it for themselves."

"How smutty are we talking? I mean mom's pretty ok but if we're talking hard core it'd be best to at least warn her."

It's not the reaction he'd expected and it has him spluttering a little helplessly much to Anthony's amusement.

"Seriously? I mean I know i'm a bit of a flirt but I think I'd actually have to drape myself naked across your bed with an 'eat me' note slapped across my dick to be any more obvious about where I see 'us' going."

Really what else is there to do at this point than kiss that smug ass grin off of his face?

Hard.

It's about a half hour later when they're curled together on the sofa watching some shitty, corny as heck, show and eating what could quite arguably be the best pizza he's ever eaten when he informs Anthony,

"You know this is crazy right? I mean you've know me two days and being a weird perv who writes stuff about you without knowing is literally my most endearing aspect."

"Mm, still crazy seems to be my thing and there's just something about being around you that feels right."

"Never say that in front of David, he totally called a destiny thing and if he finds out we kinda think he's right..."

"We'll never hear the end of it?"

"Never ever."

"Then consider my lips sealed."

"Good." A beet as he snuggles a little further into the strong circle of those arms then, "so what, exactly, did we get up to last night?"


End file.
